


New Wings

by hardcore_like_eezo



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardcore_like_eezo/pseuds/hardcore_like_eezo
Summary: He’d lost the Normandy, he’d lost the privilege to fly, and he never stopped blaming himself for Shepard’s death.  During his lowest of lows, an unlikely job offer presented Joker with his first glimpse of redemption—if he was willing to make a deal with the devil.





	New Wings

_May, 2184 CE_

 

Joker dragged his hand across the interface to lock the hotel room door behind him.  Shore leave always left him mopey, and feigning a cheerful attitude amongst his fellow shipmates was exhausting.  The third day of leave from the _SSV Verdun_ was in its twilight hours, and by 0700 the following morning, Joker and the rest of the crew would be back on duty, with every moment another reminder he was no longer a pilot.

He hadn’t been grounded, only reassigned.  The Alliance honored his technical expertise and transferred him to a tech officer position aboard the _Verdun_.  His skills were never in question, only his fitness for duty after the loss of the last ship upon which he had served.  A couple Alliance therapists were recommended to him, but nothing they said seemed to make things right.  It had now been one year since his reassignment, one year since the _Normandy’s_ destruction, and one year since the death of Commander Shepard.

He still hadn’t forgiven himself.

The bottles in the mini-fridge rattled as Joker yanked the door open.  He grabbed a beer from the top shelf but stopped short of popping the cap.  He was still borderline-drunk from drinks with his crewmates at the casino.

“Like another beer will fix anything,” he grumbled, “You’re cutoff for the night.”

He shoved the fridge door closed with his foot and hobbled over to the sofa where he collapsed onto the stiff cushions, tossing his cap towards the bed.  It fell short of its target and flopped discarded across the floor.  Activating his omni-tool, he moved to turn on the television when the tool’s comm chimed at him.

Joker stared at the blinking interface.  It indicated only that there was an incoming call, devoid of any sort of caller identification.

“Hello?” Joker asked with a lazy tone as he opened the call, half expecting there to be a VI on the other end with a gimmicky offer of, “you’ve won a free trip to Illium!”

Instead there was a male voice, too calm and in control to be a bland VI.  His tone was downright disarming but resonated with authority.

“Mr. Moreau, I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

Having never heard the voice before, Joker almost hung up out of immediate disinterest when he glanced about the unkempt hotel room.  He had nothing better to be doing, and decided to indulge his caller.

“Nope, there's nothing but good times on this end.”

“I’m glad to hear your sarcasm is still intact.  It’d be a shame if the unfortunate events of last year robbed you of that as well.”

The comment gave Joker pause, and he leapt straight into a defensive mood, “Okay, who the hell is this?”

“Someone with an opportunity for you.  A job opportunity.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve already got a job and I’m not looking.”

“Is that so?  You’re happy with your current assignment then?”

Joker opened his mouth to speak his mind, but thought better of it given that he still didn’t know who he was talking to.

“Look, buddy, I’m solidly buzzed.  Any chance we can reschedule this little interview?”

“I think you’ll sober up when you hear what I have to say.  We find ourselves in need of a pilot.  I hear you’re one of the best—or were my sources wrong?”

“They weren’t—” Joker stopped short as his frustrations with the Alliance got the better of him.  He sighed as he shook his head, not sure he believed he was desperate enough to hear this stranger out.

“Even if you are offering me the chance to fly again, why should I trust you?  Who exactly would I be working for?  And are you gonna introduce yourself, or should I just call you ‘our mutual friend?’”

“I don’t stand to gain anything by deceiving you, but I had to get your attention first.  I believe you’re at least vaguely familiar with Cerberus?  I represent their interests.  In fact, I define them.”

Joker’s eyes went wide as the name “Cerberus” managed to pull him from the depths his stupor.

“You’re shitting me.  As in the terrorist group?”

“I see you know as much about us as the general public,” the man said with a dismissive tone.

“I know experimenting on your own species is kind of no big deal for you,” Joker said with a curled lip he hoped carried in his voice.

“Yes, your previous CO did have a run-in with that cell.  I don’t expect you to trust me on the spot.  All I can offer you is my version of the truth: Cerberus cells are allowed to operate with extreme amounts of freedom.  I wasn’t aware of the unfortunate extents to which they’d taken their assignment until it was too late, and by then your CO had shut them down…in a manner of speaking.”

With a tender push off the sofa, minding his legs as they took on his weight once more, Joker reconsidered the beer after all, “Uh huh.  And who are you, the Cerberus ethics officer?”

“Most know me as the Illusive Man.”

Joker froze on his feet.  He wasn’t one to read the news as a religious habit each day, but that was a name he’d seen more than once.  The gravity of this call hit him at last.  The enigmatic leader of one of the most influential and elusive human-survivalist groups in the galaxy—a terrorist organization by some accounts—had called him personally to extend a job offer.

“Give me one reason I don’t hang up right now,” he said through his teeth.

“I think you know the reason,” the Illusive Man said without sounding the least bit patronizing, “As a pro-human organization, we’re dedicated to standing in the way of anything that might threaten the future of our species.  To that end, Commander Shepard was an invaluable asset to humanity, and your exceptional piloting skills made her victories possible.  Bearing that in mind, why do you think I’d personally reach out to you?”

A chill ran across Joker’s skin.  He hadn’t had anyone to speak to of the subject since the Commander had died.

“The Reapers,” he whispered, “You believe her?  ‘Cause the Alliance sure as hell doesn’t, or at least they’re not acting like it.”

“Of course.  We can’t afford the risk of ignoring her warnings.  We confirmed her claims, and now, we are all that stands between humanity and the Reapers.  How do you feel about my offer now, Mr. Moreau?  Not only will you fly again, but you’ll be helping protect our species from a threat that everyone else would rather pretend doesn’t exist.”

Joker sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing the palm of his hand hard against his forehead.  A part of him feared what he would sacrifice to join with an organization like Cerberus.  It wasn’t his allegiance to the Systems Alliance—his disillusionment with them began the moment he’d lost his position at a helm and seen Shepard’s warnings dismissed—but instead his principles that were at stake.  So much of what he knew about Cerberus stood in contrast to what he believed about the basic concepts of right and wrong.

He yearned to fly once more.  Where his Vrolik syndrome handicapped his body, his skills in control of a ship contrasted that a hundredfold.  Where his own legs might break if he got too energetic on the dance floor, he made the _Normandy_ dance in ways that drew envy from every pilot in the fleet.  The chance to helm a ship again meant regaining his pride, his sense of self-worth, and the one thing that mattered most to him, but that alone wasn’t enough to convince him to join Cerberus.

The matter of the Reapers, on the other hand, might be enough.  Shepard had been convinced of the threat they posed, but after her death and the splitting of the _Normandy’s_ crew, everything related to the Reapers seemed tossed to the wayside.  What better way to honor her memory than to continue the fight against the Reapers?  Would Shepard have joined forces with Cerberus, as long as it meant ensuring the Reapers wouldn’t return?

“I…I want to consider it,” Joker said, “but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“I’m not surprised,” the Illusive Man said, “so let me sweeten the deal.  What would you say if I told you you’ll have the opportunity to work with Commander Shepard again?”

Something snapped in Joker.  His chest pulled tight as all the guilt, the grief, and the helplessness came flooding back.

_My fault…my fault she’s dead._

“You know what?  Fuck this.  I _saw_ her die, you son of a bitch.  If you want to open that wound again, then you can kiss my—”

“We’re rebuilding her as we speak.  We have been for nearly a year.”

Joker paused, his mouth still hanging open in preparation for the string of profanity he had been poised to unleash, but instead barked a heartless laugh.

“What, from scratch?  Or are you going more for the Frankenstein approach?  Ooo, or is it RoboCop—”

“I’m more than happy to explain,” the Illusive Man said, cutting Joker off again, “Cerberus recovered the Commander’s body not long after her untimely death.  This was a contingency we prepared for.  We’re bringing her back from the dead with no strings attached: I promise you that.”

Silence followed as Joker shook his head in sheer disbelief.

“…you’re actually serious?” Joker asked, “This is for real?”

“As real as the threat of the Reapers, something I would never joke about.  Shepard will return.  She’s going to need every resource we can afford her, and that includes the best pilot we can hire.”

Joker still couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion, “But you’re talking about bringing someone back from the dead!  How’s that even possible?”

“Nothing is impossible for humanity, Mr. Moreau.  All it takes is the proper science and motivation,” the Illusive Man said with the confident tone of a well-practiced businessman, pausing as he blew cigarette smoke, “and funding.”

“You swear you’re not just making a clone or something?  Some sort of imitation Shepard?” Joker asked, shoving aside an impossible hope he couldn’t yet bear to believe.

“That would defeat the purpose.  She will not be a clone.  She will not be conditioned with any of Cerberus’ agendas.  She will be the exact same person you knew on the day she died,” the Illusive Man said with as much reassurance as his voice could carry, “The philosophers can debate continuity of consciousness all they want, but I made my orders clear to Cerberus: get me Commander Cambria Shepard exactly as she was.  My top operative rose to the task, and I have complete faith in her.”

Joker went silent once more as his prospective employer waited with practiced patience.  Joker tried to reason away what he was considering, but he couldn’t imagine why someone like the Illusive Man would lie to him in such extremes if all he wanted was a hotshot pilot.  Why else make a personal call if not to make as convincing a pitch as possible?  The chance to fly, the means to fight the Reapers, and the opportunity to see Shepard again hung in the air before Joker.

In his eyes, he owed an unpayable debt to Cambria Shepard.  She saved his life and lost hers in the effort.  Against all reason, he opted for hope—hope in redemption.

“Okay,” he said, his reluctance weighing down the words that followed, “Count me in.  But Cerberus and your agendas can still kiss my ass.  I’m doing this for Shepard.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Welcome aboard, Mr. Moreau.”


End file.
